


and i can only hope you've got it aimed at me

by lanyon



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers assemble and Agent Coulson is assigned to live on-site.</p><p>"Their secret is no longer a secret between two people. This is a remarkable group of people, with a weird definition of loyalty, and they can appreciate anything that keeps Coulson from melting down and Barton from becoming bored enough to fuck with them all. That’s not to say that, sometimes, Coulson doesn’t shout at them because the rec room is not an appropriate venue for arm-wrestling between Thor and the Hulk or that Barton doesn’t piss himself laughing because he got the drop on Rogers but no family is perfect."</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i can only hope you've got it aimed at me

Fury knows. Of course Fury knows. That eyepatch is full of secrets. The man has the most devilish sense of humour on the planet. Only he would think it amusing to decree that Coulson has to live on-site with the Avengers.

 

“You’re the only one who can handle them.”

 

Coulson makes a sound in the back of his throat. It’s not insubordination. Of course not. It’s simply scepticism that Fury believes anyone can handle Tony Stark.

 

“Ms Potts will be making regular visits,” says Fury, as though he can read Coulson’s mind.

 

“Then I can’t really say no, sir, can I?”

 

§

 

It’s not that S.H.I.E.L.D. frowns on workplace relationships, precisely, but Nick Fury has been known to declare that he’s not running a speed-dating service. The official line is that there is no official line but it’s generally accepted that two agents fucking is a damn sight less destructive than two agents trying to kill each other (or it was until the Avengers exploded into existence and now it’s a fifty-fifty split).

 

Phil Coulson is a private man, though, and Clint Barton isn’t exactly the sort to go shouting about his personal life from the rafters. If Barton’s hiding in a roof space, it’s invariably with some unholy mischief in mind.

 

The first issue arises when it becomes clear that Coulson’s apartment is quite some distance away from the Avengers’ residences.  Apparently, this is Fury’s concession to the fact that living at close quarters with a team of superheroes might not be conducive to a night’s sleep. Coulson is pretty sure that it’s because Fury knows and he wants to see how Coulson and Barton manage.

 

 §

 

“You don’t have many personal belongings, Agent Coulson.”

“Mr Stark.” Funny that Stark’s arrival coincides with the beginnings of a migraine. “How may I help you?”

 

“I’m just having a look around, Coulson. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Coulson blinks. “And that includes infiltrating other agents’ private quarters?”

 

“Something like that.” Stark’s got that innocent smile on his face, with the wide eyes and the “oh, I didn’t destroy a city block, you must be thinking of Thor” expression. “You know, your apartment’s almost as empty as Barton’s.”

 

Coulson nearly gets distracted by _almost_ but then his lips twitch. “I hope Barton doesn’t know you broke into his room. He doesn’t like it when people touch his stuff.”

 

“Honestly, I’m more concerned about Banner’s reaction.”

 

Coulson’s fingers spasm as he envisages the subsequent structural damage and paperwork.

 

“Speak of the devil.” Coulson looks up at Stark’s words. “I mean, the first devil. The second devil would presumably leave a great trail of destruction.”

 

Coulson’s eyes meet Barton’s.

 

“What brings you to such high places, Hawkeye?” Stark pronounces _Hawkeye_ with a certain amount of amusement and Coulson tenses. Neither Stark nor Barton is armed but the amount of collateral damage that Barton can cause with one cocky grin is legendary and Stark’s commitment to chaos is unparalleled

 

Barton’s gaze snaps towards Stark’s and his mouth curves.  He rubs his chin. “I think Dr Banner is looking for you, _Iron Man_.”

 

“And that would be my cue to leave.” Stark looks down the corridor. “I’ve heard that Fury’s got quarters here, too. Do you think he’d mind if I-“

 

“ _Yes_.” Barton and Coulson reply in unison but Stark is already on his way. Coulson turns to say something to Barton, to commiserate perhaps, but Clint’s fingers are already snagged in the sleeve of Phil’s suit.

 

“I miss the couch.” Clint’s words are muffled against Phil’s mouth. They manage to get the door closed and shuffle over to the solitary armchair in Phil’s living room. Phil’s hand is wrapped around Clint’s upper arm, pressing and kneading through the thin cotton of his t-shirt and he can taste Clint’s smile.

 

“Banner isn’t looking for Stark, is he?”

 

Clint pulls back far enough so that Phil can see his grin. “Got rid of him though, didn’t it?” He ghosts another kiss over Phil’s mouth. “ _Sir_.”

 

Fifteen glorious minutes pass uninterrupted. They are used to having privacy; they are used to checking each other over for injuries at the end of each day. Clint’s lips touch Phil’s eyelids because he knows about Stark-related headaches. Phil’s thumb glides along a dark purple bruise overlying Clint’s collarbone from an earlier sparring session with Natasha.

 

Inevitably, they are interrupted by a resounding crash from somewhere above them.

 

Phil sighs and it cannot be good that they’re so efficient at disentangling themselves. “Get your bow, Clint.” His expression is steely. “And if you accidentally shoot Stark in the foot, I’ll vouch for you.”

 

Clint laughs, dragging his fingers along Phil’s tie, thwarting any attempts to straighten it. “The problem will be convincing anyone it was an accident.”

 

§

 

“Coulson would know.”

Coulson doesn’t know what it is he would know but they’re three words he has learned to greet with extreme trepidation. _Coulson would know how to get around that rule_ or _Coulson would know how to break it to Fury that a Quinjet was an unfortunate casualty in the Stark-endorsed game of Hide and Seek (Everything Goes)_ or _Coulson would know how to return the traumatised pizza delivery guy to his home. In L.A._

 

“What would I know?” He’s going to regret asking that but it is Thursday and it’s been a relatively quiet week.

 

“How to get Hawkeye to miss a target.”

Coulson’s right eyebrow almost disappears into his hairline. He looks gravely between Rogers, Banner, Stark and Romanov “Might I ask why four operatives are so eager to thwart their colleague?”

Stark grunts and turns around to look at the screen. It’s a security feed from Hawkeye’s target room and it looks as though Barton is only settling in.

 

“It’s good to know each other’s weaknesses in the field,” says Banner. It’s easy for him to say. His weakness is his strength and Coulson doesn’t envy him.

 

“Maybe if you told him to miss, Coulson,” says Rogers. His eyebrows are knitting together as he concentrates on the screen.

 

“But then he wouldn’t actually be missing, would he?” says Romanov. Her arms are folded and she exudes confidence; she has known Hawkeye long enough to trust implicitly in his aim. “He’d just have changed the target.”

 

“I thought maybe some chemical imbalance might make a difference,” says Banner. He sounds almost glum.

 

Coulson lets out a sigh. The Banner-related migraine is rather different to the Stark variant because it’s never intentional on Dr Banner’s part. “Please don’t tell me you’ve tried to poison Hawkeye.”

 

“Certainly not.” Banner is almost offended and everyone takes a step back. “Well. I tried increasing the caffeine content of his morning coffee.”

Stark snorts. “And the bastard was actually able to compensate for the tremors.”

 

Everyone’s gaze drifts towards the screen again. Barton has moved on to moving targets. Multiple moving targets, ranging in size from a dinner plate to a golf ball. He’s only human and Coulson and Romanov can relate to that. He’s the sort of man who has picked up tricks and tips from video games and Disney movies and who applies them to his archery. He’s only human and yet he can hold his own and reduce even Stark to speechlessness.

 

There is a pause as a S.H.I.E.L.D. employee scuttles out to remove the arrows.

 

Coulson raises his wrist to his mouth. “Good work, Barton.”

 

Stark, Rogers, Banner and Romanov all swivel around to look at him. Coulson nearly smiles. “Yes, I’ll tell them.” He looks between his colleagues. “Barton says you’ll have to do better than that. “ Glancing at the clock, he adds, “Now, don’t you have something better to do with yourselves?”

As he leaves, he can hear Stark. “Maybe if we could simulate some sort of earthquake.”

 

§

 

It’s Friday. It’s Friday and all of the Avengers have clearance to be off-site. God only knows where they all scatter to but Phil and Clint go home; their actual home with their couch and their bed and their dying houseplants.

 

“How do you kill a cactus?” asks Clint, picking up one of the unfortunate casualties.

 

“I have no idea,” says Phil. He drapes his suit jacket over the back of an armchair. “They’ve always reminded me of you, you know.”

Clint turns around, holding the pot in his hand. “I fail to see the resemblance, _Sir_.”

 

Phil smiles and it’s the smile that no one else gets to see. It’s the smile that Clint jealously hoards in lieu of photographs in his wallet. “Well,” Phil says, slowly. “It’s prickly and low-maintenance.” He tilts his head to the side and looks at Clint through narrowed eyes. “It doesn’t talk back so much, though.”

 

Clint tips back his head and laughs. This evening will be a good evening. They’ll get in take away and share a bottle of wine and fuck slowly in their own bed.  Phil will kiss Clint’s bruises and scold him for not going to Medical and tell him that it’s no shame to be beaten up by a girl when that girl is Natasha Romanov. Tomorrow morning, they’ll shower together and they’ll return to base and if anyone remarks on their joint arrival, it will be fitness drills every morning at four a.m.

 

§

 

There is equilibrium. It is likely, by now, that everyone knows that Hawkeye is fucking their handler but no one says anything. The Avengers are a dysfunctional group of dysfunctional people but not one of them can fault Coulson and Barton. It’s like they know the value of stability by its absence.

 

Thor has Jane and Stark has Pepper and his robots and his ego and his digs at Rogers and the others are all slowly fumbling towards their own saviours.

 

When Stark is bored, though, he’ll throw comments into the air like tiny incendiary devices. It’s like parents having sex, he’ll say. You know that it’s happened and that it probably still happens but you really don’t want to know about it.

 

Thor once walks into Coulson’s office without knocking and backs out instantly, apologising too loudly, and Barton doesn’t even try to get off Coulson’s lap.

 

Barton arrives back from a mission with his arm in a sling and a black eye, roundly snarling at everyone because the last thing a man like Hawkeye needs is enforced rest and no one remarks when Coulson lays gentle fingers on Hawkeye’s jaw and looks at him. Barton’s nostrils flare but he allows the medics to treat him.

  
(It does get Stark to thinking whether Coulson and Barton are actually telepathic, though.)

 

Their secret is no longer a secret between two people. This is a remarkable group of people, with a weird definition of loyalty, and they can appreciate anything that keeps Coulson from melting down and Barton from becoming bored enough to fuck with them all. That’s not to say that, sometimes, Coulson doesn’t shout at them because the rec room is not an appropriate venue for arm-wrestling between Thor and the Hulk or that Barton doesn’t piss himself laughing because he got the drop on Rogers but no family is perfect. (This family might be perfect.)

 

At some point, Barton drags Coulson’s armchair down to his own quarters and his bed becomes their bed and not a word is said.

 

§

 

Another weekend rolls around and Coulson encourages a night’s leave for everyone. He has paperwork to do and he relishes the occasional evenings when he has the building to himself.

 

Three hours into his glorious solitude, during which he has been so productive that he might allow himself a few hours of freedom tomorrow, Coulson receives a call from Agent Sitwell.

 

The Avengers are in a karaoke bar in the West Village. It’s not an emergency, sir, and we do have guys recording it and –

 

“Sitwell, have you been drinking?”

Sitwell’s reply is so well-enunciated that it’s evident that the poor man is off his face. “Tequila doesn’t count as alcohol, sir.” There is a gentle hiccup. “But you should get down here. Hawkeye and Pepper are dueting. ‘s amazing.”

Coulson covers his eyes with his hand and he makes an inarticulate sound.

 

“Seriously, sir,” says Sitwell, with the sort of heartfelt urgency that only a very drunk man can manage. “’s Huey Lewis and _The Power Of Love_.”

 

Coulson snorts. “Enjoy your evening, Agent.”

He hangs up. Karaoke. He has never known the Avengers do anything so wholesome.  _Change your hawk to a little white dove_ , indeed. Humming, he turns back to his reports.

 

The next morning, when there are reports of a bar brawl in the West Village, he supposes he should have laid down his pen.

 

§

 

“Darcy’s here, sir.”

 

Barton likes Darcy Lewis. Coulson thinks it’s because she’s human, too. She visits the Avenger Mansion regularly.

 

“You won’t learn much about anthropology here,” he tells her, one day.

 

Her eyes widen. “Are you freaking kidding me? It’s like having my own petri dish.”

Coulson doesn’t want to break it to her that the Avengers aren’t here for her amusement because she’s an excellent influence on them. Coulson likes to think it’s because she’s a reminder of the outside world; the real people for whom they fight. Realistically, he doubts it’s as complicated as that. If the girl can make Steve Rogers smile and Bruce Banner laugh, she’s as valuable an asset as any.

 

“You and Clint doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”

And there’s that. Darcy is the only one who asks such direct questions about The Relationship. Coulson hasn’t even realised that it’s Valentine’s Day today but prescribed occasions mean very little to them. They might mark each other’s birthdays and they’ve had a few years with undisturbed Christmases but they tend to make their own occasions. Coulson asked Barton to move in with him on a rainy Tuesday afternoon and he has no idea when their anniversary is, only that Barton has been a constant in his life for years now.  He doesn’t remember the exact date they first fucked though he knows it came at the end of a long and fractious op in Russia and something had been brewing for months beforehand.

 

“If you can get Stark to fess up about the laboratory incident before five p.m., maybe I can actually make a plan,” says Coulson, surprising himself.

 

“I’m on it, sir.” Darcy is a girl on a mission and there’s no better woman for the job.

 

There’s a crackle in Coulson’s ear. “You old romantic, _sir_.”

 

Coulson laughs. “Get back to work, Barton or I’m not signing you out of here at five.”

 

Barton’s answering chuckle leaves Coulson’s insides warm and, as he strolls towards his office, where the inevitable pile of complaints and reports awaits, he concedes, to himself and to no one else, that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> +The title comes from Arctic Monkeys' "Suck It and See".  
> +My weakness for power ballads shines through again with Huey Lewis (apologies only not really).


End file.
